be looking. She could not tease Mr. Falkirk,
who had gone to sleep; Mr. Kingsland was absolutely beyond
reach, except of rather thorny wishes; and when at length the
dilettante cigar perfumes began to assert themselves, Wych
Hazel flung the rest of her patience straight out of the
window, and looked after it. The coach was stopping just then
by another wayside inn, to exchange mail-bags and water the
horses, and favoured by the gathering dusk, a sharp business
transaction at once went into effect between the young lady
within and some one without; wherof nothing at first
transpired. Mr. Kingsland knew only that on one side the tones
might rival a mountain brook for their soft impetuosity. There
was 'a show of hands' too, and then the coach jolted on and
Mr. Falkirk woke up; but not till the tired horses had gone
down one pitch and up another, did he hear a faint 'mew' which
raised its voice at his elbow.

'What have you got there?' he said hastily.

'A pair of whiskers, sir.'

'Where did you get that thing?' was the next demand, made with
considerable disgust.

'Really, sir--whiskers not being contraband--'

Mr. Falkirk was a patient man; at least Wych Hazel generally
found him so; and at present he merely fell back into his
corner, without making his thoughts any further apparent than
the gesture made them. He offered no remark, not even when the
dismayed condition of the whiskers aforesaid suggested sundry
earnest and energetic efforts at escape, with demonstrations
that called up Miss Hazel from the quietude of her corner to
be earnest and active in her turn. Frightened, not sure of the
kind attentions of the little hands that kept such firm hold,--
the kitten struggled and growled, and at last sent forth its
feelings in a series of mews, sostenuto and alto to an
alarming degree. Mr. Kingsland smiled--then coughed,--and Wych
Hazel's laugh broke forth in a low but very defined 'Ha! ha!'

'Mr. Falkirk,' she said, 'please open your heart and give me a
biscuit.'

'Mr. Falkirk,' cried a cheerful voice, rather low, from the
other side of the road, 'what have you got on board?'

If Mr. Falkirk's inward reply had been spoken aloud and in a
past age, it might have cost poor Miss Hazel her life; as it
was, he only said, 'Can you cut a broom-stick, Rollo?' The
answer perhaps went into action, for the young man
disappeared.

Turning its wee head from side to side, as it munched the
biscuit, soothed by the soft t